5 AM
by RenWine
Summary: Tony has jet lag, and Steve has memories.


**5 AM –**

Tony drums his fingers to the beat of a classic rock tune, which is quietly pulsing from the kitchen speakers. The stainless steel counter top is covered in breadcrumbs, globs of jelly, and peanut butter, while Tony wields a butter knife in his right hand. He recently returned from an expo in Germany, and his jet lag leaves him awake while all other members of the tower sleep peacefully. Or so he assumes.

As Tony stacks five sandwiches on a plate and exits the kitchen, he clicks the lights out and powers off the music. Just as Tony reaches the door to his lab, he hears a faint rumble down the hall. With a fleeting look at his inviting sanctuary, Tony sighs and creeps towards the lounge instead. The room is flashing dull colors over the room's sofas, revealing a solitary seated figure.

_ "…after both having swallowed a cyanide pill…"_

Tony realises the history channel is flickering on the television screen. He taps on the doorframe with his knuckles. The seated figure starts and mutes the parade of tanks. As he turns around, Steve's face becomes partially illuminated. His eyes lock on the man leaning in the doorway.

"Sorry to interrupt. Having a moment?" Tony asks in an attempt to break the awkward tension. He steps into the room with Steve.

"I thought you were in your lab," Steve grunts.

"I was, but now I'm hungry. Sandwich?" offers Tony, holding out a dripping set of bread slices.

Steve raises an eyebrow at the mess, but takes the treaty. Tony rolls over the back of the sofa, settling in with the plate of sandwiches on his chest, feet propped on the armrest.

"So," begins Tony, taking a bite of one of his sandwiches, "What has you up at this hour?"

"I've been up all night."

"That's a little weird. Aren't you military types pretty regimented?" Tony chides with a frown. "Up at the crack of dawn, you know?"

Steve does not respond, choosing instead to stare at the silenced black-and-white footage. His face hardens. Tony moves his gaze from looking up at the soldier to analyzing the television screen. Images of men parachuting onto beaches and blasting fighter planes rapidly move by. It changes to crowds of people cheering and flashes of old newspaper headlines.

"Should've been there," murmurs Steve.

Tony returns his gaze to Steve.

"What? The end of the war?" He wipes peanut butter from his goatee with his thumb. "I'm pretty sure they handled it fine without you."

"You don't understand. How could you? The very nature of your work is to remove the man from the frontlines," sighs Steve, biting half-heartedly into his sandwich. "It was my duty to see the war through, and I just vanished."

For a brief moment, concern whirls in Tony's eyes as he licks his thumb and stares up at the solemn man. Steve feels as though he failed. It did not matter that the war was eventually won; Steve never finished his job.

"Steve, you're not in debt to anyone," Tony says firmly, handing another sandwich to Steve. Reluctantly, Steve takes it, nibbling on it slowly.

For ten minutes, the two heroes dwell in silence, with Steve watching the war come to an end and Tony observing Steve's face, searching for emotion- something from which to build. Tony stretches his arms above his head, draping them over Steve's lap. Steve looks tired, and Tony is not sure if it is because of the war or because he has not had enough sleep. Steve yawns.

Abruptly, Tony lifts his arms up, looping them around Steve's neck to hoist himself into the seated position. As he begins to tug on Steve's shoulders, the program comes to an end. Steve glances sideways at the smaller man pulling on him, but does not budge.

"What are you doing?"

"C'mon. You could use a little more sleep," Tony says, trying to coax Steve to lie down. "I don't think that time spent frozen was enough for you."

"It was more than enough," grumbles Steve, but he lies down anyway, resting his head on Tony's lap. The room darkens as the television recognizes inactivity and fades to black. Steve's features are outlined in blue from Tony's chest. Without the film to distract him, Steve is left with his thoughts and the prickle on the back of his neck where Tony's eyes rest.

Steve's mind swirls until he cannot bother to keep himself awake. As he succumbs to sleep, he is faintly aware of the hand brushing the hair from his forehead. And before unconsciousness overtakes him, Steve thinks he can hear the whirring of Tony's blood, pushing through the veins of a genius, secured by the glowing core in his chest. Tony waits until Steve's chest rises and falls to a heavy, slow rhythm. With a sigh, Tony wiggles himself slowly out from under Steve's head. He rises, taking the final sandwich and exiting the room.

Steve was right. He could not understand the soldier mentality. There were some things a peanut-butter-and-jelly sandwich could not fix. Tony glances over his shoulder into the lounge before heading back to his lab. The least he could do was try, and eventually- Tony hoped- Steve would realise how needed he was here, in the twenty-first century, with Tony.


End file.
